


I know

by EmImagines



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mystrade Advent Calendar, Mystrade Advent Calendar 2017, a small homage to Bridget Jones, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmImagines/pseuds/EmImagines
Summary: Part of the Mystrade advent calendar 2017!





	I know

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Mystrade advent calendar 2017!

Mycroft stood by the door with a small smile on his face, it appeared when he heard the detective inspector laugh at an awfully cheesy Christmas cracker joke. 

Mycroft loved that laugh. He loved that smile. He loved the way Greg's nose would twitch slightly as he giggled. Mycroft loved everything about him. He just never had the confidence to admit it to Greg. 

The elder Holmes wrote down what he felt in a letter, a way to convey his deepest feelings towards the DI. Anthea suggested it and at the time Mycroft thought it was ridiculous, in his words 'preposterous'. But when she left his office with a small smirk and a shrug, he wrote out the letter. It was a page long. Everything he needed to say was on it and ready for Greg's eyes and Greg's eyes only. 

But he wrote the letter months ago, Mycroft had never found the perfect opportunity to give the DI the piece of paper with his soul in ink on it. 

Tonight was going to be the night. Mycroft had accepted the invite to Greg's annual Christmas party. Mostly everyone was crammed into his cosy little flat; Sherlock, John, Mary, Sally, Anderson, Molly and Mrs Hudson. 

Mycroft studied Greg's flat intently, he noticed the little details such as the phonebook beside the phone with the pen lodged in it. The pen was at the letter 'M' and Mycroft deduced that he had called his mother before everyone arrived. Mycroft noticed the DVDs by the television, one box was left out; 'Roman Holiday'.

Mycroft smiled to himself daydreaming about him having a lazy Sunday afternoon with Greg watching the film. Both of them lying on the couch that was a few inches away from where Mycroft was standing. 

But that's all it was...a daydream. 

"Drink?" Molly asked with a small smile and wiggled a bottle of champagne in Mycroft's face, snapping him out his blissful trance. 

He looked down at his glass and noticed it was empty "Please," he positioned it in front on himself so Molly could fill it. 

She poured in silence, Mycroft didn't notice all that much, he was too busy looking at Greg. 

Molly-even though she had a faint idea what Mycroft was looking at-followed his gaze. "You should just tell him, Myc..." Mycroft raised a disapproving brow at the nickname "-croft..." she uttered the rest of his name after the silent warning. "I don't know if anyone else can see it," she continued in a hushed voice "But I can. I think the two of you would be very happy together. But you have to talk to him and let him know how you feel, he's not a mind reader." 

"I'm trying! Do you know how difficult this is for me?" He sounded exasperated. "Emotions, _feelings_...it's not something I've always been familiar with!" 

Molly nodded and sent the elder Holmes a sympathetic smile "I know, if you need me I'm here." 

Mycroft thanked her before she turned on her heel and headed in John's direction to fill up his glass. Mycroft discreetly reached for the letter and quickly placed it on the sideboard that was against the wall. If you blinked, you would have missed him doing it.

"I have to get going," Mycroft announced his departure with a shaky voice "Merry Christmas." He held up his glass as a toast and downed the bubbling liquid. 

"So soon?" Mycroft breath hitched. Inside it felt like his heart was a bird inside a cage and someone had just violently shook it. That someone being the owner of that honeyed voice. 

"Apologies, Gregory," Mycroft sent the man a curt nod while his lips formed into a nervous curve of a smile. Mycroft took out his phone "Duty calls. Good evening." Mycroft turned and left, when he reached outside he inhaled the crisp winter air, it burned his lungs. There was a light dusting of snow on the pavements and it crunched under Mycroft's feet. A car approached Mycroft and he looked up at Greg who was standing by the window before getting into the car. 

"I think you've had enough..." Mary warned Sherlock and carefully took his drink from his hands. 

"No! No! I'm fine!" He drunkenly reassured with a hiccup before stumbling backwards, he steadied himself on the sideboard with a giggle. 

But the letter Mycroft had left fell down the abyss of a gap that was between the sideboard and wall. 

"I think we should get you home," Greg sighed out and he and John helped Sherlock into a taxi. Greg returned up to the flat, completely oblivious to what was behind the sideboard. 

\---

Mycroft waited days. Then a month. That month turned into two, then three, then twelve. 

He thought he was never going to get a response from that letter. 

But Mycroft still had an once of hope in his heart, maybe Greg just needed time. Mycroft was willing to give him time. But Greg acted as if he hadn't even acknowledged the letter, a week later after after the incident Mycroft had left it he noticed it was missing when he went to Greg's to discuss the protection of a diplomat that was arriving in London. 

Five years later, Mycroft found himself mulling over a brandy one snowy Christmas Eve. The lights from the decorations around his living room were softly twinkling and the fire was crackling away. He was lonely. He wanted someone to spend Christmas with. 

He wanted Greg. 

Greg was stuck in his house reorganising the multitude of Christmas cards taking up most of his living room. He was in his boxers and light dressing gown with a pair of slippers his mother had bought him for his birthday. He picked up a card he had received from Mary and John, it made him smirk as he read the pun inside. 

He placed it down on the sideboard only for it to accidentally fall down the back. Greg let out a sigh and moved the heavy sideboard with a groan. When he moved it he found the card. 

And a letter. 

With a furrowed brow, he picked up the letter. 

_'Gregory'_ was the only word on the front. 

Greg opened it and read the letter aloud to himself. _"Gregory, I often thought of myself as a 'walking version of winter'. Cold, bitter, a heart as freezing and as hard as ice. I was all of those things. When I met you, that changed. The coldness faded into warmth, the bitterness inside me transformed into something sweet and my heart...you thawed my heart. You."_

Greg took a moment to compose his staggering breathing before he continued reading; _"My words in this letter can convey so much more than my mouth, I'm not very good at talking about emotions. I'm especially not very good at talking to you, I must admit. The reason for this is because I think-"_ Greg stopped mid-sentence when he saw the words that followed. A smile spread from one ear to the other and he clutched onto the letter as he ran for the door. 

Greg stepped out onto the street, his front door slamming shut behind him "Oh bollocks!" He uttered to himself hearing the door close. This scenario reminded him of 'Bridget Jones'. His mum would always giggle at that scene. He forgot all about it when he looked down at the letter in his hand. 

The snow had only gotten worse, the streets were covered in a disturbed blanket, footprints everywhere. Greg smiled to myself and started running, his dressing gown flapping about in the breeze. Passersby gasped and took a double take seeing Greg running around in nothing but his boxers and thin dressing gown to a house nearly a mile away. 

His slippers were soggy and he was freezing but the words he had read meant those things didn't matter. All he needed was to see Mycroft. 

He spotted Mycroft's house in the distance and sprinted to the end of the street. He skidded to a halt, only to fall on his arse and miss Mycroft's gate completely. But he quickly jumped up and dusted the snow off himself and the letter that was still in his hand. 

Greg hurried to Mycroft's door and knocked it, a few moments later it opened. "G-Gregory?" Mycroft breathed out in utter disbelief. Was Greg really standing in front of him in nothing but his underwear? Just how much Brandy did Mycroft have to drink? 

"Think or know?" Greg asked out of breath, he still asked with a smile. 

"What are you talking about?" Mycroft furrowed a brow, completely baffled. 

Greg held the letter in front of Mycroft's face and the elder Holmes felt his stomach drop. Greg was waving a piece of Mycroft's soul in front of his very face. 

Mycroft never thought he'd see that piece of paper again. 

"Think or know, Mycroft?" Greg began to close the gap between the two of them.

"I left you that letter five years ago..." Mycroft couldn't take his eyes off it, he completely ignored Greg's question. 

"F-five years ago? W-what? I've only just found it!" Greg's words trembled out his mouth from the nerves and the cold attacking his vocal chords. "And you never answered me...what you wrote in your letter - You said you think that you love me. Do you still _think_ you love me or do you _know_ that you love me?" 

Greg was silently begging it was the latter. 

Mycroft looked at the letter, then a scantily clad Greg. He smiled and placed his forefinger under Greg's chin and tilted the DI's head upwards slightly. Mycroft pressed a kiss to Greg's freezing lips, the instantly warmed after a few seconds. Greg held onto the sides of Mycroft's face and began to passionately began to kiss him back. Mycroft pulled back to catch his breath and the two rested their foreheads against each other, their eyes shut, the tips of their noses freezing cold. 

_"I know."_


End file.
